


Ode to Oriel

by maisiec33



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Loss, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Lucifer, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Lucifer Feels, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) is Bad at Feelings, Original Character(s), Post-Devil Face Reveal to Chloe Decker, Sad Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Soft Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maisiec33/pseuds/maisiec33
Summary: It is well-known to most people he meets that Lucifer Morningstar does not like children.They are grubby, ill-mannered, and generally irritating to be around, and the last thing he needs at any time is a pair of sticky paws besmirching his perfectly-pressed suit. Their hugs seemingly confuse him, and their adorable-ness is far too off-putting to be considered an advantage to their presence.As far as Chloe knows, Trixie is the first child Lucifer has come to appreciate.And, hopefully, she’ll never discover anything to suggest otherwise.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Ella Lopez & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 98
Kudos: 215





	1. Shock and denial

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I have way too many fics in progress rn but who cares, here's another one!!

It is well-known to most people he meets that Lucifer Morningstar does not like children. 

They are grubby, ill-mannered, and generally irritating to be around, and the last thing he needs at any time is a pair of sticky paws besmirching his perfectly-pressed suit. Their hugs seemingly confuse him, and their adorable-ness is far too off-putting to be considered an advantage to their presence. 

As far as Chloe knows, Trixie is the first child Lucifer has come to appreciate. 

And, hopefully, she’ll never discover anything to suggest otherwise. 

These are the thoughts that clutter Lucifer’s head as he observes the tiny body on the bed in front of him. She can’t be older than 8, judging by her short stature and still-chubby cheeks. This is a little girl who’s had her existence cut short by a murderous human stain, the likes of which repulse him. Even though he knows well that they’ll get their comeuppance in Hell, some part of him still wants to traipse over to the piece of shit and beat the living daylights out of them. 

Chloe is clearly struggling to hold her composure as she listens to Ella give the heart-breaking details of what she’s found, and he wants nothing more than to squeeze her shoulder and reassure her that everything is going to be okay. That it isn’t Trixie. And it never could be. But he can’t even muster the energy to lift his arm and the words sit awkwardly at the tip of his tongue, never leaving his mouth. He just can’t. 

Crime scenes never bother him, yet as he stands there, eyes never leaving the little girl’s lifeless body, he wants to run far away and never look back. His usually-untouchable collectedness is threatening to crack under the pressure of seeing the child, and, for once in his life, he finds himself fighting the urge to vomit.

Because she looks too much like her, with the delicate strands of deep brown hair and the cute button nose. The dimples on her cheeks. The little ears. Every feature a reminder of the past he’d stuffed into a box labelled ‘FORGET’ and shoved into an infrequently visited corner of his mind. 

So, though he tries his utmost these days to never leave a crime scene out of the blue, he puts his hands in his pockets, turns, and walks out of the house back to the Corvette.   
***************************  
Lucifer has disappeared. Again. It aggravates her beyond belief that he could just wander off in the middle of a difficult case like this. Especially without saying even a single word to her.

She says so to Ella, who simply shrugs and shakes her head. ‘Maybe it’s affecting him more than you realise.’

Always the mediator.

‘But he usually doesn’t even like kids.’ Chloe retorts, crossing her arms. She’s never seen him act the slightest bit affectionate towards children that aren’t Trixie, so she isn’t too convinced with the idea that he’s emotionally impacted by seeing a dead kid. He knows Chloe would be, though, which is the thing that’s bugging her. The little girl only resembles Trixie a little, but it’s enough to cause her alarm.

He should’ve been there for her, she thinks, anger obliterating her impeccable ability to see when Lucifer is upset. 

The forensic scientist taking pictures of the body across from her raises her hands up in mock surrender. ‘Look, I’m not taking any sides here, I’m just saying. Sometimes things affect people that we wouldn’t even consider.’

The Detective takes in the words, trying to find some sliver of an argument to refute her. Unfortunately, Ella, like usual, is correct. 

Perhaps there is more to the situation than Chloe knows.   
For now, though, she has to try to solve the murder alone- without her snarky and inappropriate Devil partner to lighten the mood at all. How fabulous.   
********************************  
Every time Lucifer closes his eyes, he sees her face. A bud of innocence and beauty looking up at him as if he’s the greatest thing in the world, admiration blurring her view of him like a frosted window on an icy day. So pure. So wonderful. So special. 

He could never be a great father. She, in an indirect way, had taught him that- or, at least, she had taught him the devastating truth that while his Father had his omnipotent grip on everything, Lucifer could never raise a child. 

The alcohol tastes bitter in his mouth when he raises his glass to take a swig, hoping that her picture will disintegrate under the flow of whiskey. It doesn’t, of course, as he well knows; he’s suffered this dreadful reminder a few times across the centuries and at each instance no amount of hard liquor was able to dull the pain. 

His stars shimmer in the night sky outside, trying their best to comfort him from so far away. 

But they’re not the only light he created. 

*She* had been light- she had exuded brilliance from the moment she’d entered the universe. The second she learned how to smile, she’d been able to wrap every angel in the silver city around her stubby little fingers. Just like her father.   
He pushes her image away from his mind, already feeling the uncomfortable prickle at his eyes and burning of his throat, neither attributed to the whiskey. 

Just like always, however, she weasels her way back in with those enchanting green eyes, glittering with excitement. 

‘Daddy!’ she chirps at him, tugging on his shirt sleeve with determination. ‘Come look!’

A somewhat younger Lucifer follows her, chuckling all the way, until they come to her bedroom. The walls are adorned with magnificent landscapes, painted on by him when she had complained of her surroundings being too boring those years ago. He never could say no to her requests. 

The carpeted floor is mostly bare aside from a tiny orb of light that hovers centimetres above it, golden and glowing.

‘I made it!’ she says, beaming at him. ‘For you!’

‘My clever little Oriel!’ he says, sweeping her into his arms and kneeling upon the ground. ‘It’s very beautiful.’

Her still-growing fingers close around the ball and she turns to gaze up at him, holding it out for him to take, which he does. The miniscule amount of warmth generated by it as it sits in the palm of his hands feels like a furnace to him, hearty and roaring. He swells with pride. 

‘I will treasure this forever, my little light-bearer.’ His old self whispers. And he means it.   
*****************************  
‘We didn’t hear a thing' the distraught woman croaks opposite her. ‘We put little Sophie to bed, and in the morning she was-‘ 

The word ‘dead’ never ghosts her lips, but the way she breaks down immediately tells Chloe that that’s exactly what she means. To find her daughter, so young and innocent, dead in her own home... Chloe can’t imagine the grief. 

‘I’m so sorry, Miss Davis. I really am. I’m a mother myself, so...’ she trails off, unsure of what to say next. Nothing can mend the broken heart this woman must surely be nursing, so she only says ‘I’m so sorry.’

The woman nods gently, and continues. ‘We don’t have security cameras around our house; it’s always been such a safe neighbourhood. We never thought anyone could do anything like this.’

Chloe bites her tongue in her mouth, worry surging within her. This could’ve happened to Trixie. It could have happened to anyone. She assumes her neighbourhood is good, but so had Miss Davis, and now she was grieving the loss of her young daughter. Life is unexpected sometimes. 

‘We will catch the person who did this.’ Chloe vows, taking the woman’s hand in hers. 

Because, even despite the insubstantial evidence they have, there’s no way she’s resting until the perpetrator sits behind bars, locked away forever so that they can never again harm a family in this way. This suburban paradise is far too close in nature and distance to her own for her to think otherwise.   
Miss Davis murmurs her appreciation, and soon Chloe’s back in her cruiser, heading for the precinct. 

Whether she’ll find Lucifer there, she doesn’t know. It’s a sort of test, really- often when Lucifer disappears from a case and reappears at the precinct, it’s usually because he just found the case boring. If he’s not there, she can assume that there’s another reason why he’s avoiding her. 

Quite frankly, neither option yields good results. If he found the case ‘boring’, she’ll have to refrain from punching him in his handsome face. If he’s away for other reasons, that means that maybe Ella’s right- and, if so, enter a truckload of denial and inappropriately dealing with emotions in her partner’s garish fashion. Perhaps it’ll be drugs or copious amounts of alcohol, but one thing in that scenario Is guaranteed: he’ll never face his issues head on.

When she arrives at the precinct and finds Lucifer is absent, her stomach half-drops. So he is having trouble emotionally. 

Maybe it’s because it’s his first child case. Chloe remembers having a hard time dealing with the variation in her feelings when she’d first encountered a murdered kid. Mainly, it was disgust that such a crime could even be committed by a person. And anger that they were currently roaming the streets. 

The other option is a strange case of Luciferness, and the most she’ll likely hear of it is a cryptic remark at a later date. He confuses her a lot, but if that’s the way he chooses to process (or not process) emotions, there’s not much she can do except be there for him. 

And phone Linda. 

The therapist picks up after a few rings, chipper as always.   
‘Oh, Chloe! How can I help you?’

She explains the issue in as much detail as she can, purposefully hopping over the more troubling aspects of the child case in favour of her description of Lucifer’s leaving. After she’s finished, Linda looses a sigh.

‘That’s Lucifer for you. Sometimes, it’s hard to know what’s going on inside his head- I feel there are still many topics he’s yet to tell me about in his sessions, and perhaps this is one of them. I’ll give him a call.’

‘Thank you, Linda. I really appreciate it.’ Chloe says, mindful of how much paperwork she has to do and how much this saves her currently going to check on her AWOL partner, who is probably neck-deep in a binge-drinking marathon or snorting his own body weight in coke to try to forget about his problems. 

‘No worries. I’ll talk to you later.’ 

A couple of beeps signify the end of the call, and Chloe returns her focus to her work.  
***************************  
The phone always manages to ring at the most inappropriate of times. 

He’s on his sixth glass of whiskey now, so only just beginning to feel a slight buzz. At times, he’d do anything to be paralytic, free of the pesky restraints of celestial metabolism.

The screen is too bright. Too happy, he thinks. 

The Caller ID reads ‘The Doctor’ and Lucifer practically groans. This really isn’t the time. 

He’s glad that, at the very least, it isn’t a facetime call. She would notice instantly that something was wrong if she could see the way his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying. How his hands shake as he downs another slosh of liquid. The ruffled discomposure of his hair. 

But it’s only via voice, so he picks up hesitantly and tries (in vain) to disguise the grief in his tone. 

‘Hello, Doctor’ he greets, regretting it immediately as he realises that he sounds rougher than usual. 

‘Hey, Lucifer, I just wanted to check in on you. Chloe said you walked out on a case this morning?’

Is the Detective worried about him? He should probably message her if she is, because honestly she should never fret about him. Maybe he should-

‘Lucifer?’

‘I-I’m...’ What is he, really?   
Miserable? Tick.   
Distraught? Tick.   
Highly unstable? Tick.  
‘Alive’ he settles with, because it’s true. 

‘How are you doing *emotionally*, though? Did something bother you up there? She said it was a child case.’

He wants so badly to tell her everything, to recount the story of his wonderful daughter, from start to bitter end. But, like earlier, he just can’t. 

The words won’t budge from his mouth, lips tightly sealed while screaming at him not to let go of this secret. He knows that divulging this information will cause the perception of him to change forevermore, no longer ‘child-hating’ Lucifer but ‘grieving father’ Lucifer, and that’s something he doesn’t want. After all, it feels sometimes like his reputation is all he has left. 

So he presses the ‘end call' button just as Linda begins to speak again, filling the tense silence. Nothing she says can make his pain go away. 

He wills his trembling hands to pour another glass of malt, which he tips back and swallows with a choked grimace. 

His unsteady fingers find the pendant in his pocket that he’s kept on his person all these years. Her little light dangling off the end still burns brightly in the darkness, reminding him that a part of her will always be with him in the gift she gave him. 

And he cries.


	2. Anger

It had been his fault, really. That she’d died. 

His own disobedience. 

When Father had threatened to put an end to Oriel’s existence if he questioned Him one more time, Lucifer had not understood it as a serious statement. A merciful God, and a merciful Dad, would never harm a grand-daughter as punishment for the petty sin of asking, he thought. 

Now he knows, though, that the qualities he had attributed to his Father were falsehoods. His naivety had led to his daughter’s demise, his trust in the goodness of the Almighty being the ultimate blunder. 

Had God expected him to simply continue being obedient after smiting his daughter?

Did he think that Oriel was so insignificant to him that her death would act solely as a warning?

If he had, he had been sorely mistaken.

Because, after she had been taken from him, Lucifer had felt unimaginable grief. The kind that tears someone apart for years after the fact. And his stance on being obedient changed entirely. 

What was the point of fearing punishment when one had nothing left to lose?

So he had gone off the rails, so to speak. He’d interrupted the Almighty at every possible occasion, made his opinions heard by openly arguing with his Father about His decisions, and finally, started a war. 

When his punishment had been inevitably delivered each time, Lucifer accepted it with gritted teeth. Perhaps it was because he felt he deserved it all, after the death of his daughter due to his own wrongdoing. Any sane person could have told him that the blame rested on his Father, but he felt a great deal of responsibility for not heeding the threats He had lain bare. If he hadn’t rebelled, however slight the grievance, Oriel would still be alive. 

And he told himself so every day for centuries after.   
Even when Michael had held the glowing blade to his throat and dragged him to the precipice of Heaven in preparation for his banishment to Hell mere years after her death, Lucifer had not said a word in protest. All of the angry eyes that looked disapprovingly down at him, a chained shell of his previous angelic might, apparently saw no wrong with His Father’s deeds. 

Seeing the unwavering expression of His Father as he was tossed from the clouds reinforced the idea that he had already had drifting about his rebellious mind. 

He would never forgive Him.  
*********************************  
When Chloe arrives at the next crime scene, Lucifer’s corvette is already there. Her worries are gone almost instantly knowing that whatever he’d been dealing with couldn’t have been that bad. 

Until she sees him.

It looks as if no effort has been put into his appearance whatsoever. He’s wearing a rumpled suit, something she didn’t even think possible (she assumed he just threw out his suits as soon as he’d worn them once judging by how pristine they appeared every time) and even from behind she can see that his hair is a total mess. 

As she gets closer, the unmistakeable scent of whiskey becomes overpowering. Despite him drinking out of his flask nearly 24/7, he usually smells only the faintest bit of alcohol, the dominant spiced cologne he douses himself in drowning out any other aromas. Even when he’s not wearing a load of his signature scent, though, she’s never known the alcohol smell to be so potent. 

Something must be seriously wrong. 

This is confirmed when she actually manages to get a good look at his face for the first time, a sight all too reminiscent of his ‘Homeless Magician’ appearance. Maybe worse.   
His eyes are sunken with the shadows of sleepless nights etched about them, and his sclera are streaked with angry blood vessels. If that wasn’t enough, he’s paler than she’s ever seen him, and his well-styled stubble now resembles that of a junkie. 

‘Oh, Lucifer' she sighs, unsure of what to do.

He sluggishly turns to her and hiccoughs before plastering on an unconvincing fake smile that stops when it gets to his dead eyes. 

‘G’morning D’ective.’ 

She knows that his celestial metabolism means it takes an unholy amount of alcohol to get him drunk, which makes the way he slurs doubly worrying. He’d have to have been slamming back drinks all night and then some to reach this level. 

‘You need to go home and get some rest’ she tells him, already placing her hands on his shoulders to steer him back to her cruiser. There’s no way she’s letting him drive himself back in this condition.

However, he clearly has other ideas, because he digs his heels into the ground and refuses to move. He never uses his inhuman strength unless he really wants to because he knows usually not to make a scene, so this development is yet another red flag for Chloe. 

Still keeping one hand on his shoulder, she swings around to face him and immediately frowns. 

The expression on his face is haunted. 

‘Don’t make me go back there' he says, clear as day. 

Whatever he’s worried about has shaken him from his drunken stupor and then carried on rattling him to his core. 

‘Okay, okay' she assures, stroking down his cheek with her hand. ‘My place, then? Or do you just want to try and do some detective-ing?’

He doesn’t hesitate. ‘Detective work.’

She nods in understanding and straightens his suit before beckoning him forward. 

‘Best sober up, quick, Mister, if you’re gonna help me solve this.’  
******************************  
Another little girl. It’s another little girl. 

She doesn’t look as much like her as the previous one, but the fact that a little girl has been killed and is now lying dead in her bed in front of him is enough to make him feel sick.   
Innocence ripped from the blossoms of life and thrown to the lions of death in a sadistic fashion.

Just like his Oriel. 

To think about her now, though, would be counter-productive. He needs to focus his attention on catching the murderous waste of space responsible for this crime. 

The detective murmurs something beside him about there being no verifiable connection between the victims so far except the manner of their execution and their being little girls. Whoever killed these children, he thinks, must have some unfathomable grudge against human spawn- so potent that they’re willing to put an end to the lives of innocents. 

It makes his blood boil. To punish is in his nature, but never would he have murdered random fathers because of his Daddy Issues. Any sane person can understand that the blame in something lies with the perpetrator themselves, not all those like them. 

Plus, what could a roughly 8-year-old girl have done to anger somebody so badly?

Chloe is staring at him, and he realises that he’s probably been ogling the victim for far too long for it to seem investigative in nature. Bollocks. 

‘How could the killer have found these girls?’ he asks, voice coming out weaker than he intended. 

‘We don’t know’ Chloe says, shaking her head sadly. 

Perhaps, Lucifer thinks, they’re looking for a physical connection when they should be looking at an online one. 

‘Had they been posted online at any point?' he ventures.

She glances up at him, eyebrows raised. ‘We hadn’t checked. Good one, Luce.’

The use of his nickname causes some of the ice inside him to melt. At the very least, he has her. And maybe he’s provided some kind of insight into the case that’ll actually help.  
*********************************************  
Lucifer’s suggestion proves to be correct. Both girls had pictures up on their mothers’ social media, tagged in the local area as well. 

Chloe scours through the likes on the posts to see if there’s a user to be found lurking in both, but the killer was clearly smart enough to hide their creepy stalking from LAPD eyes. Not that she enjoys calling the disgusting murderer ‘smart’ at all. If they had been ‘smart’, they wouldn’t have butchered two beloved daughters in the first place. 

With no evidence pointing towards any one suspect yet, there appears only one course of action to take. 

She clicks on the tagged location of both posts and scrolls through the results that pop up, noting down the poster names to be contacted ASAP. If they send out officers to each of the houses possibly at risk for the next attack, there’s a chance they’ll catch the killer before they can strike again. It’ll be expensive for the LAPD, sure, but they’re looking at a serial killer here. There’s no room for error. 

As soon as she’s finished jotting down the last name, Lucifer is there right beside her to take the scrap of paper to the Lieutenant. The moment the list touches his hand, he hurries away like his life depends on it. 

She’s never seen him so dedicated to a case before.   
From where she’s sat at her desk, she can see through the glass to the Lieutenant’s office as Lucifer bursts through and thrusts the paper towards the man in the chair, who swivels around to take it in a manner too slow for the Detective’s liking (and Lucifer’s, judging by the way he shifts on his feet impatiently). The grey-haired Lieutenant pulls his spectacles down onto his nose to view the names with as much haste as a narcoleptic sloth.

If Chloe is getting pissed, Lucifer is absolutely infuriated. 

She can tell by the flaring of his nostrils and the tightening of his grip on the Lieutenant’s table. Luckily, the old asshole doesn’t see the slight bending of the edge as Lucifer curls the metal downwards like it’s made of putty. 

Finally, the Lieutenant holds out the paper with a clear shake of his head. 

No. 

He won’t provide the resources. 

How. Dare. He. 

Lucifer’s tired eyes darken behind the crystal-clear glass and he leans steadily closer towards the man at the desk, shoulders rigid with fury. 

Chloe can’t make out what he’s saying, but the words look quiet yet seething. Delivered calmly yet with the message of a dire warning. 

‘Give us the willpower or so help me Dad I’ll tear you limb from limb.’ 

Or something like that. 

When the Lieutenant doesn’t answer, Lucifer slams his hands on the table. 

The old man nearly jumps out of his seat, nodding with gusto and taking the paper hesitantly back. As Lucifer steps back with a satisfied grin, the petrified man in the chair is already thumbing a phone number desperately into a keypad and lifting the receiver to his ear. 

His work complete, the fallen angel retreats from the room, adjusting his cufflinks as if nothing had happened. 

And, damn, Chloe loves him for it.   
*****************************  
The officers are in position and the sky is beginning to darken. From what they know, the killer strikes at night, which means they’re nearing prime time for their capture. 

Although Chloe had tried to persuade him to go home and get rest, Lucifer sits alert beside her in the cruiser, his eyes trained on the house they’ve been tasked with watching.   
He must be exhausted. The dark shadows under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. 

However, the only sign that something is awry is the gentle fidgeting of his left hand near his lap. It’s a repetitive motion, un-noticeable to most, but Chloe is a detective. And she’s performed the exact same movement on stakeouts before when she’s on the verge of falling asleep and trying to fight it. 

‘Sleep’ she tells him, eyes still focused on the awning of the house. 

‘I’m fine, Detective.’ He answers assuredly. ‘I need to be awake when we catch this bastard, or even hear news of it. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

She tears her eyes away from the building to look at him.   
‘Why?’

He seems to take a moment to register her question, then he too turns. ‘Why what?’

‘Why is this so important to you? I didn’t think you were too attached to children.’

He looks affronted by her accusation. ‘And you thought that just because I didn’t seem ‘attached’’ he mimics quotation marks with his fingers ‘I wouldn’t care if they were being murdered in cold blood?’

She sighs. ‘That’s not what I meant... I’m sorry. It’s just- I just think that there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You never seem this determined with normal cases, that’s all.’

He shrugs, not saying anything. Before she can prod him further, he’s clammed up entirely. He’s staring at the building again with his shoulders slightly tilted away from her- to him, this conversation is finished. He’s a brick wall. 

Not wanting to push him, she turns back to the house as well. 

That’s how they stay for a while, just observing the unchanging suburban scene and waiting for something to happen. 

But there’s nothing. 

She’s almost glad for the interference when her phone rings. At least she’ll have something else for her brain to do while gazing at this beige tableau. 

‘Decker’ she answers. 

The voice of her babysitter comes through, distressed. No words can even be made out because of how much the woman is panicking, the meaning lost in a blur of overwhelming emotions. 

But in the haze, a few words break through. 

‘Trixie’ and ‘gone’.


	3. Bargaining

When they finally reach her apartment, backup is already there and questioning her frightened babysitter, who can barely utter a sentence without shaking violently. 

A masked man, she says, broke in- not expecting anyone to be home. When he saw her, he’d grabbed Trixie and booked it out of there before she even had a chance to react. She insists, though, that she’d tried her very hardest to stop him.

Chloe puts a hand on her shoulder and reassures her that it’s not her fault, trying desperately to ignore the anger-distorted voice in her head yelling otherwise. 

‘This woman was tasked with taking care of Trixie,’ it hisses in her ear, ‘and she failed.’

But Chloe knows from experience that this is an excuse. The fault lies with the person who took her daughter, and nobody else. 

Despite it being her own daughter gone, Lucifer looks even angrier than her. She half expects his eyes to flash red, though even without that his dark brown irises look piercing. His nostrils flare with every breath, and she finds that she is the one to have to comfort him, placing her hand gently on his. This seems to melt some of the anger away and he looks to her appreciatively, but still with a hint of determination.

‘I am going to find this monster,’ he assures her. ‘get Beatrice back to you, and punish him.’

This is said matter-of-factly, with no room for debate. 

Then, he ushers her outside and takes her by the shoulders, looking at her with a softened expression.

‘I will find her.’ 

The slight wobble in his voice makes her want to cry. ‘How?’ she whispers, eyes misted with tears. 

‘Trust me.’ He tells her, lifting her chin a little so she can see him properly. ‘I will.’

Before she can ask him how, his wings burst forth from his back, their swan-white radiance relaxing her even from the distance between them. Her breath catches in her throat at their beauty, like always. There’s just no way of getting used to them, wonderfully eye-catching as they are. 

He nods at her, eyes sparkling, and raises his wings. They look mighty and wholly angelic, true divinity just a few metres away. Lucifer flexes them, and she can see the muscles of his shoulders and those in his wings ripple as he does so- having not unfurled them in a while, they must be stiff and somewhat sore. She can’t imagine how freeing it is to finally let them just be. 

Within a swift second, he flaps them, and the powerful gust of wind created by the movement is enough to nearly push Chloe backwards. 

She watches with a weak smile on her face as he drifts higher and higher into the sky before diving forwards away from her and above the busy streets of LA. A strange sense of relief settles in her, because she knows that Lucifer is a devil of his word. 

He’ll find Trixie if it’s the last thing he does.   
*******************************  
The feeling of wind in his wings and hair while he flies is a feeling that, though uncomfortably reminiscent of his time as a soldier of God, makes him want to whoop with joy. However, now is not the time for that. He has important business to attend to. 

Stopping for a moment and hovering in the air, he closes his eyes and focuses on her. The dark hair, her adorable little eyes, the gap in her teeth that makes her lisp, her very essence. Slowly but surely, he can feel her, her pull. The more he focuses on her, the stronger it gets, until the way to his small human is crystal clear. 

So, he soars towards the source of the pull, deciding to dip below the surface of the low clouds to bob and weave between the towering skyscrapers, mostly for the buzz it provides him with but also for the added clarity in his sight. There are so many buildings in LA, and one is holding Trixie (he knows for sure that it’s LA because the pull is too strong to be from outside the city). All that’s left for him to do now is figure out which one and alert his Detective. 

The tugging sensation only heightens with each swoop of his wings, and soon he can feel her distress. She’s scared. So very scared. If only he could alleviate her obvious fear.   
With a pang of realisation, he remembers his praying ability extends to mortals as well, so he focuses on sending a thought towards her. 

‘Beatrice, it’s Lucifer’ he thinks, hoping desperately she can hear. ‘Hang in there, darling, I’m coming. I won’t let anybody hurt you.’

He forces himself onwards with another strong beat of his wings, the air whistling as it passes through his feathers. 

Got to get to her. 

Got to get to her.

Can’t let it happen to her as well. 

His mantra is interrupted by a short prayer back.

‘Please hurry.’ The voice of the Detective’s offspring chokes out, even her thoughts to him shaky. ‘I think he’s going to hurt me.’

No.

No.

No no no no no.

He won’t let it. He can’t let it. 

His wing beats become even more frantic until he’s certain that the building below is the one housing his partner’s daughter. It’s a normal suburban house on the outside, but he’s sure that it’s far from normal on the inside.

She’s definitely there. He can tell by the overwhelming sense of fear he feels transferred to him that grows stronger with every flap towards the ground near the home.

Finally, his feet touch pavement and his hands fumble in his pocket for his phone to dial Chloe.

When she doesn’t answer, he becomes agitated. He has to get in there. That sicko might have his paws on her already.  
So, after it goes to answer phone, he doesn’t call again. Instead, he leaves a rushed message. 

‘Found the house that’s holding Beatrice, I’m sure of it. She’s going to be in trouble if I don’t get in there. I’m afraid I can’t wait for backup. I’m going to have to do this alone. Stay away from here for a while- I know it’s hard but it’s for the best. I can’t afford to become vulnerable when I need to save her. Talk to you later. Going in.’

That finished, he stuffs the phone into his pocket, ignoring the symbol for wavering service on the screen, and advances towards the house. 

The heat of his anger is so intense, he doesn’t even notice the flickers that spark into fires in his blood-red eyes.   
*****************************   
Chloe finishes the interview with the other policemen and drags herself out of the house with a sigh. This is too much. It’s all too much. 

Her phone buzzes with a notification as she turns it on, a missed call and a voice mail. From Lucifer.

She clicks on it instantly, eyes as wide as saucers. ‘Found the house that’s holding Beatrice' he says, and she breathes in relief. ‘She’s going to be in trouble if I don’t ge- in the-... Can’ wait fo- -up... Do.. ‘lone’. 

Great. His signal must have been awful. Just what she needs. 

At least she can track his phone. 

They need to send in more officers to deal with this before it gets out of hand- which it likely already has done.   
***************************  
Lucifer doesn’t hesitate to kick down the door. Trixie is here, and quite possibly in grave danger, so property damage is the least of his worries. 

His advancing footsteps are stark in the silence of the house. It’s eerie. The lack of noise, rather than reassuring him, just makes him even more nervous. Shouldn’t the little girl be screaming her lungs off by now? What’s he done to her?

These possibilities make his already thundering movements louder with the force that he treads through the house. To hell with stealth. He wants the fucker to know he’s there. 

As he approaches a staircase leading into what he assumes is a basement, he takes in the room around him. This must be the sitting room, based on the pristine white sofa, coffee table and TV. The normality of the environment is complete with family photos that Lucifer has to look away from out of sheer disgust. It’s a sickly disguise for the malevolent acts occurring there.

He treads down the creaking steps into blackness, a basement which is surprisingly open and pretty large. A few glaring white lights bathe the place in an uncomfortable glow, no warmth of yellow but pure, bright, white that burns into his eyes.

A voice cuts through the silence, scraping and unkind. 

‘Not so talkative now, are you? Shame your Detective Mommy was too late, huh? And the ‘angel’?’

Lucifer can make out the back of a man with a head of short brown hair and a stocky build. The figure barks out a laugh and leans ever closer to...

Trixie. She’s in a chair, but her head is tipped forward and she’s not making a sound. 

Oh God, Lucifer thinks, despite the irony. 

He’s too late. 

He got Trixie. 

He tears down the last few steps and throws himself at the kidnapper and now apparent child-murderer, catching him in a tight restraint and roaring curses and inhuman noises. He can’t stop the furious tears that spring to his eyes as he wrestles with the man, holding him with ease but still shaking- with grief. 

‘HOW COULD YOU?!’ he shouts, a half-sob escaping from his mouth. ‘SHE’S INNOCENT! YOU FUCKING MONSTER!’

The man struggles for breath, gasping out, ‘because she got to live when Amelia died.’

Rage continues coursing through Lucifer’s veins, never ebbing in spite of the kidnapper’s clear attempt to gain sympathy. 

‘YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DECIDE WHO LIVES AND DIES' he roars, cheeks wet. Then, a seething but wobbly voice emanating from his lips continues, ‘Stripping the love from others can never replace what was lost.’

He shakes himself free of the weakness quickly, though, and slams the man into the ground. 

‘WHY?’

The kidnapper wheezes helplessly before succumbing to unconsciousness. Lucifer rushes over to where Trixie is still sat and picks her gently up from the chair and into his arms, cradling her and letting his tears flow. 

He had thought he could save her. If not Oriel, then her. Flip the bird at Azrael for once and rescue Trixie from the clutches of evil.

But yet again, he had failed. 

He weeps uncontrollably, shoulders heaving with the intensity of his emotions until he’s knelt upon the ground still holding the little girl. 

*His* little girl. 

Not Oriel, of course, but he’d started considering Beatrice his, as well. Another mistake. Everyone knew he could never be a father, he’d told himself so many a time yet he’d fallen into the web of love that Trixie weaved. 

The thought of Chloe, her reaction and how she’ll scold him eternally, never forgiving him for his fatal blunder of not reaching her daughter in time, constricts his chest and forces more grief-stricken sobs out of him.

‘I’m so sorry’ he whispers through choked breaths, to both the lifeless-looking body in his arms and his Detective. He strokes Trixie’s hair and brings her even closer to him until he’s rocking backwards and forwards with her head on his chest. 

‘I’m so-‘ he breathes. ‘So, so, so sorry’. 

Every breath is a labour now. He can’t live with himself, with this guilt and suffering. 

So he shuts himself entirely off to the outside and exists in a void of nothingness, shaking and crying all the while.   
*************************************   
The crews having finally tracked Lucifer’s phone, Chloe arrives at the scene of the house first. As soon as she’d heard the updated information, she’d rushed over, not knowing the scene awaiting her within. 

Only one thing is audible when she enters the house- sobbing. 

And then, Trixie rushes up some stairs in the house and surges forward to her mother, crying softly.

‘You’re here' she says between shaking breaths. ‘I was so scared. I thought something had happened.’

Her little voice sounds so heartbroken. 

‘What, sweetie?’ Chloe asks, already tearing up from relief. ‘You’re the one we were worried about.’

‘Well, the bad man gave me something that made me sleepy but I’m okay.’ Trixie says reassuringly. ‘It’s Lucifer. Something’s wrong with him, Mommy.’

For a moment, Chloe fears the worst. Did he get himself killed saving her daughter? It’s exactly the type of thing Lucifer would do, which worries her immensely. 

‘What happened?’ she manages, hopefully hiding her fear behind a mask of tranquillity. 

‘He’s super upset' replies her daughter, jutting out her lower lip. ‘He was holding me when I woke up and he didn’t say anything when I tried to talk to him. He was just crying.’ 

Chloe ignores the urge to clutch her daughter close to her for the time being and ushers her away to the waiting policemen (soon to include Dan) and makes her way down the steps alone. Anything making Lucifer cry openly must be serious.

Sure enough, the sound of quiet sobbing only gets louder.   
When she sees him, she wants to wrap him in a tight hug and tell him everything’s going to be okay. 

He’s in the middle of the floor, long legs bent as he rocks back and forth slowly, just crying to himself, huddled in and obscuring his face. 

‘Lucifer’ she hazards, edging towards me. ‘It’s Chloe. You’re okay, don’t worry. I’m here.’

Like Trixie had said, he doesn’t even respond to her, just continues his misery alone.

When she touches him, though, he raises his tear-streaked face towards her, eyes missing their light and not seeming all there.

‘I couldn’t save her’ he says, his voice a ghost of a whisper. ‘I’m so sorry, Chloe. It’s all my fault.’

Chloe leans in to wipe the tears from his cheeks. 

‘Shh, it’s okay. You did good, Lucifer. Trixie’s okay.’

He looks at her quickly, surprise etched on his features. ‘She is? I... I was-‘

‘It’s okay, Lucifer.’ She interrupts, moving even closer to pull him into an embrace. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

He trembles under her touch. ‘Why?’

She doesn’t understand. ‘Because you saved her?’

‘Trixie? She’s... I couldn’t save her.’

Chloe pulls back, concerned. ‘No, Lucifer, she’s okay, I-‘

‘I couldn’t save her.’ He breathes, tears welling in his eyes. 

Before she can contradict him, he’s curled back into himself, shuddering violently and continuing to sob. Every time she tries to speak to him, she gets nothing except those four words- each time he says them more crushing than the last.

'I couldn't save her.'


	4. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter gets pretty dark, with references to drug overdose and suicidal ideation.

Chloe doesn’t see Lucifer for a week after the events in the basement. His phone goes straight to voicemail, where a sultry, smooth, Lucifer purrs that he’s unavailable. It’s a painful reminder of his past self compared with what she had witnessed that evening, and it feels fake.  
It just feels wrong when she knows that’s not what he is now.

Something had snapped within him in the basement, that she knows for sure. What it was, though, is a different story.  
And those words still echo in her mind whenever she thinks about him. 

‘I couldn’t save her’. He’s so sure of it, so overcome with emotion he can barely breathe because he thinks Trixie is gone... Or at least, that’s what she had assumed he’d meant. Now she’s not so sure. There are things she clearly still doesn’t know about him.

After work, each day, she drives to Lux in hopes of seeing him by the bar or in the middle of a group of party-goers. Her desperation to see him is so intense that she wouldn’t mind if he was necking alcohol or seducing someone, so long as it meant that he was okay. Or at least still alive. 

Instead, it’s always the same. Lux is still heaving with dancers and clubbers, but the elusive owner is nowhere to be seen. His piano sits unmanned, a thin layer of dust gathering on top from the weeks of disuse. The sight forms a lump in Chloe’s throat. 

Lucifer loves to play. 

Any attempts to reach the penthouse are met with no success. His elevator’s passcode has been changed (before, he didn’t even have one) and not even his bodyguards know what it is. He clearly doesn’t want visitors. 

*****************************  
He’s drowning in darkness, with no life preserver to clutch onto. 

The waves crash over him and send him tumbling deeper, hissing their curses at him as they toss him about the black sea. 

‘It’s your fault she died.’

‘You’re not worthy of anyone else after what happened.’

‘Stay away from Trixie before you curse her too.’

‘You’re not worthy of anyone else.’

‘Nobody could love you for what you did.’

‘You’re not worthy of anyone.’

‘They all despise you, really.’

‘You’re not worthy.’

As he chokes on the bitter saltwater, they don’t offer him an escape. He closes his eyes again, because there’s no point in keeping them open when all that surrounds him is the open ocean. An endless palette of greys and dull blues.

**************************  
The next time she comes, she can’t bear it any longer. There’s no way she’s leaving Lux without seeing him. 

Loud music vibrates the floor underneath her with every step, the air a flashing mess of neon colours from the lights above. She doesn’t consult the bartenders today, pushing her way through the tide of guests to Lucifer’s elevator door. It doesn’t matter if it takes a minute or a million years, she’s not moving a muscle until she can get in. 

Her first attempts- obvious things like '80085’ and '42069’ prove unsuccessful. Chloe wracks her brain for ideas and comes up empty. What number combinations would be significant to him? 

Maybe it’s something random. Being the devil must mean he has some sort of more powerful memory than a normal human, which does nothing to put her mind at ease about cracking the code. 

A minute later, she bites her lip in frustration. The music just seems to be getting louder and louder, interrupting all possible thoughts until she’s on the verge of yelling at everyone to just shut up. 

When she finally thumbs in the last number combination she can possibly conceive, she’s lost most hope of getting in through cognitive guesses. 

It beeps and the doors part open. 

010308.

The 1st of March, 2008. Trixie’s birthday.  
*****************************  
Eventually, the feelings stop. 

He’s floating around the depths of the swirling waters, unafraid to die. 

Death would be welcome, in fact. 

The reasons for that require him to remember, which is the last thing he wants, so he just accepts it and waits. It’s taking too long to arrive.

A raindrop on the surface of the sea whispers the name ‘Chloe’. It’s familiar. 

But still, he lets himself be carried in the current. He can’t allow any memories of the past to seep through now. 

Not when he’s resigned himself to eternal ignorance.  
*******************************  
She stands there in disbelief for a few seconds until her feet find the energy to move forward into the open elevator cart. Once in, she presses the button to the penthouse with her mind still in a haze, and twiddles her thumbs anxiously while the speaker on the ceiling pings to announce the multitude of floors they’re passing.

Trixie’s birthday. That’s got to mean something, right?

It’s a passcode that wouldn’t allow most people entry. Most people other than her, and possibly her daughter if she decided to check up on Lucifer.

Was it a sign?

Some kind of message that he needed help and she was welcome?

If so, she’s ignored it for too long. Maybe so much so that he now thinks she doesn’t care. 

Her thoughts are put on hold by the final chime and the rumbling mechanism as the doors open to reveal the penthouse.

She expects to find carnage, some sign of a downward spiral. Maybe tens of beer bottles and cigarette butts decorating the floor. 

Instead, it’s clean. It doesn’t even look lived in.

The Italian leather of the sofa is un-creased, as if it’s brand new and has never been sat on. The piano, like the one downstairs, has nary a fingerprint on its top to indicate that it’s been played. There’s nothing but silence echoing around the walls in the absence of other sounds to carry. 

Her footsteps click noisily against the marble as she traverses the penthouse hesitantly. Is it totally deserted?  
‘Lucifer?’ she hazards, but is met with another wall of nothingness. 

When she reaches the archway near his bedroom, she finds the floor next to it littered with little orange bottles. Upon closer inspection, the labels read various chemicals that she can’t properly decipher but knows anyway. Her heart drops.

Because she’s seen these at crime scenes before. 

At overdoses. 

‘Lucifer?’ she calls, louder than before because she can hardly hear her own voice over her heartbeat. 

She treads carefully up the steps to his room and dares herself to look. 

‘Oh God’ she whispers, eyes newly glistening. 

He’s lying unconscious on top of his bed, curled in on himself on the sheets. She can’t tell whether he’s breathing at first, but as she gets closer, she can see the rise and fall of his chest, however weak it is. 

She calls his name again but there’s no movement and her stomach drops. 

He must have taken the pills.  
*****************************  
After an unknown period of time has passed, something changes. He feels different. 

The sinking feeling increases, and he lets it wrap itself around him. The warmth is gentle and kind, a kind of sleep pulling him deeper. 

Just what he wanted. He can feel the pills finally working.  
The ramifications of this don’t sink in until a few moments later, when the name ‘Chloe’ drifts down to meet him again. 

She’s here. She can’t see him like this. 

How could he have forgotten about her?

Chloe.

The detective.  
************************  
She’s dumbfounded, staring at his unmoving form on the bed and unable to leave. 

Had he tried to kill himself?

Or just dull some kind of mental pain?

The questions only bring forth more questions rather than answers, questions that right then she can’t afford to think about. 

Her cop instincts kick in and she remembers the Narcan in her car, the one thing that might be able to help him in her presence. She could always leave and let him recover for himself, but that’s not something she wants to do. The risk of him just downing another bottle is too much to be ignored. He needs her to stay. 

Taking one last look at him, she rushes away to the elevator and slams her hand repeatedly on the ground floor button. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

He’s such an idiot.

Why the hell would he do something like that?

She’d feel angry if she wasn’t so concerned about him. 

The second the doors open enough for her to fit through, she’s out and sliding past party-goers to reach the exit. Once out, the night air cools her face and chills her cheeks where the tears had made their marks. 

Fuck. As soon as this is over, she’s sitting down to have a huge conversation with Lucifer about what’s going on. There’s no way in Hell she’s letting this one go like she does for his other antics. This is far too serious to ignore. 

She digs the medication out from her bag, the piece of kit she carries around with her on duty, and feels grateful that she’s a cop. She has no idea what she’d have done if she hadn’t been carrying Narcan with her. 

When she makes her way back up to him, he’s still in the same position. 

‘Lucifer’ she says gently, approaching the edge of the bed. ‘It’s Chloe. C- can you wake up for me?’

She can’t hide the tremble in her voice. The desperation.  
He remains still. 

So, she crouches in front of him, holding the medication in one hand and reaching out the other to the back of his head.  
This bit isn’t going to be comfortable. 

Deciding that no warning is the best strategy, she lifts the tiny spray up to his nostril and shakily puts it in, pressing the plunger down with bated breath. He doesn’t react at all initially, and she’s worried that it’s not enough. But, eventually, he blearily opens his eyes to look at her. 

‘C’lo-e?’ he mumbles, disoriented. 

She exhales, relieved, and runs her fingers through his hair. ‘Uh-huh’. She sniffs, trying and failing to avoid crying in front of him. ‘What the Hell did you do, Lucifer? I... I was so worried.’

He blinks sluggishly and creases his eyebrows as he gazes at her.  
‘M sorry. Didn’ realise. Didn’ wanna... Upse’ you.’

She fights back more tears and brings her hand down to cup his face, rubbing her thumb across his cheek tenderly. ‘Of course I’d be upset. I care about you, y’know? And I... I just want to know why.’

He stays silent, observing her lazily, breathing ragged. 

‘S complicated.’ He finally says. 

‘You’ll tell me later.’ She says assuredly. ‘For now, we got to get you to hospital.

At his indignant expression, she continues. ‘That wasn’t a question, Lucifer. I’m calling an ambulance. Don’t move.’

Chloe pulls her phone from her pocket and dials 911, affixing Lucifer with the face she usually only gives Trixie when he huffs out of annoyance. 

She waits for a response, watching Lucifer as he slowly drifts back asleep. Clicking her fingers in front of his face, she shakes her head at him and covers her phone speaker.  
‘Stay awake. I’m not having you slipping into a coma while I’m here.’

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest verbally. That’s the one thing she loves about him- he’s a literal immortal, around since the dawn of time, but he listens to a random LA cop. When she thinks about it, it becomes even stranger- he didn’t even listen to God, yet her advice is paramount to him?

It’s... Kind of adorable. 

A small smile creeps onto her face at this realisation whilst she speaks calmly to the operator at the other end. 

It’s strange how, despite all of the circumstances, she knows that things are going to be okay. 

Because they’re a team. And they’ll solve whatever issues he has together. 

Little does she know, he's thinking the same thing too. That, actually, maybe he can tell somebody what's going on. That Chloe will understand and maybe help relieve the weight he's been carrying for years without even realising. 

Maybe she's the life preserver he can cling onto until he drifts ashore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey, super sorry for not updating regularly. 
> 
> Essentially, a lot of important grades are being decided by my schoolwork right now so I'm having to work doubly hard. 
> 
> Combine that with a case of writer's block and generally feeling low, and you've got (drumroll please)....
> 
> No motivation to write!
> 
> Apologies for that, but hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. A little dark but with a kind of hopeful ending. 
> 
> Just the way I like it :)
> 
> -Maisie


	5. The Upward Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey, so here's another chapter only a day (technically two because it's past midnight where I am) after my little update! I really hope you enjoy, this was another fairly hard one to write but I'm pretty pleased with the way it turned out. 
> 
> As always, I love to hear your thoughts, and I hope you like this chapter!
> 
> -Maisie

When he’s asleep, he dreams of her. Except this time, it’s no sweet remembrance. 

His Father has just issued his punishment, a swift strike that brings death in its wake. One minute, Oriel is beside Lucifer, her little hand holding his as if she knows he’s worried about the consequences of his actions. The tiny misdemeanour he’d committed. One minute, she’s with him, and the next she’s struggling for air in his arms. Her light snuffed out with no more than a flick of the Almighty’s wrist. 

He lowers her down onto the marbled floor of his Father’s hall gently, shaking his head, and his lips move without saying anything at all. 

She coughs, and it’s a sound so fragile and tiny that it splits his heart irreparably in two. Her lower lip trembles, because she’s scared- because she had just been fine, but now she’s on the floor and her father is crying, and he never cries so something must be desperately wrong with her. 

‘It’s okay, Oriel.’ He whispers, moving a few stray locks from over her eyes and making gentle hushing noises since there’s nothing else he can do. She has been struck down by the Lord Himself, and no being is powerful enough to remedy her condition now. ‘Hang in there, darling.’ He chokes. 

She’s slipping away from him now, her body growing limp and heavy. Her eyes are losing their sparkle. Her breath is so faint and cold. 

‘Oriel.’ He says, stroking her cheek tenderly and willing her to stay with him a moment more. Just a moment. ‘Look at what Daddy’s got for you.’

His light is weaker than usual, grief tainting the edges of his inner glow with darkness, but he manages to conjure a small ball of light for her to look at. There’s also a nestling hope inside of him that his warmth will be enough to keep her there, as unlikely as it is. 

The briefest and most filling of smiles flickers across his little girl’s face at what he’s made for her, and he pushes the orb towards her. She’s too weak to take it herself. 

Her fingers curl around it ever so slowly; the light spreads across her fingertips and she giggles weakly. Tears blur his vision of her and he swipes them away, because he needs to see her while he still can.

‘I love you sweetheart’ he murmurs to her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. When he pulls back, he knows for sure that it’s too late to save her. It begins at the bottom of her feet, the toes that he’d tickled when she was only a baby are now thousands of little golden sparkles. Then, the legs that he’d seen toddle next to him, trailing him about from the day she’d been able to walk, turn to speckles of light too. 

She’s gone forever.   
***************************  
The moment he wakes, Lucifer is extremely agitated. Chloe can’t hope to help him out of it initially because he won’t talk to her about anything else but a pendant. One that had apparently been in his suit jacket when she’d found him in the penthouse last night. She considers it lucky that she’s here to reign him in slightly, especially considering how she’d not been allowed to stay overnight. It had done her good to get a little sleep, anyway. 

She tries reassuring him that they can find it when they get out of the hospital, but that only seems to worsen things. He says he needs it now, that he has to find it because it’s all he has left, and though Chloe doesn’t know what that means, she doesn’t want to see him like this. 

Ella is waiting outside, so Chloe goes out to get her while several nurses try in vain to get Lucifer back into the bed. 

‘Hey, Decker. You alright?’ the forensic scientist says from one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. 

‘I’m... No, not really. Could I get your help?’ Chloe asks, biting her lip. 

Ella nods and stands up. ‘Of course. What can I do?’

‘Lucifer keeps going on about this pendant and... I don’t know but it seems super important to him and apparently it was in his suit jacket so I need to go and get it. I just think he could do with a bit of Ella right now, if that’s okay with you.’

The woman opposite her beams. ‘I’ll go see what I can do.’

Chloe breathes a sigh of relief and gives her a quick hug as thanks before making her way to the reception. 

‘Excuse me’ she says to the lady at the desk, who looks up and offers her a warm smile. ‘Where would I be able to access the things a patient brought in with them?’

‘Ah, usually a nurse takes them through to a storage room.’   
She eyes the badge on Chloe’s hip and smiles again. ‘I’m sure I can trust you, ma’am. Along the corridor to the right of me, five doors to your right.’

After a rushed thank you (because she’s really not sure what the situation is like in the hospital room), Chloe sets off through the sterile labyrinth to reach the storage area. When she finds the door labelled ‘employees only’ she peers through the window and sees shelf after shelf of containers, likely filled with patient property. 

She enters and spends a while scanning the numerous boxes until she finds one scruffily marked ‘L. Morningstar’, holding assorted fabrics that must be his suit. 

Rifling through the materials, she digs out his pocket flask, which she deposits into her own pocket for safekeeping. As much as she used to hate his drinking habits, knowing that it does him no harm and may even help relax him the slightest bit in her presence means she’s willing to give it back to him along with the pendant (if she can find it). 

His pockets contain a few hundred dollar bills and a pack of cigarettes, unsurprisingly. Only when she delves into the nearly hidden space in the lining of his jacket does she find it. 

The chain is ornate; it looks hand-crafted with the non-uniform links but incredibly complex with the designs on the metal. These, too, are not uniform, which gives Chloe the impression that they were painstakingly etched on over the space of hours. 

Next, she comes to the pendant itself. She’s seen nothing like it. Even in the darkness of the storage room, she can see the tiny orb well- Chloe soon realises that this is because the orb is emitting the light itself. There appears no electrical source or bulb, and so she assumes this is natural light, probably created by Lucifer?

The luminescent ball is cased in a delicate glass, and as Chloe raises the pendant to get a closer look, it moves around inside, bouncing off its enclosure walls gently.   
It’s quite honestly beautiful. 

She tears her eyes away from it and carefully puts it in her pocket as she exits the room to go back to Lucifer. He’s probably still stressed, she thinks, so it’s best she gets his belongings back to him. Asking him about the meaning of this accessory will have to come later. 

Once Chloe returns to the hospital room, she can see through the window on the door that Lucifer doesn’t appear to be still tearing the place apart looking for the pendant. Feeling relieved, she pushes on the door handle and creeps in. 

Ella must have managed to convince Lucifer to be patient, because he’s back in the bed. Well, sort of. She’s pulled one of the chairs to his side and is sat in it, with his head in her lap rather than on the pillow. He seems relaxed, humming affirmatives and mumbling his thoughts as Ella seemingly recounts a story while simultaneously carding through his hair. 

‘Hey’ Chloe greets, and Ella looks up. ‘I found your pendant, Lucifer.’

He lifts himself from Ella’s lap and sits up, the relief evident as Chloe approaches and places the chain in his hands. 

‘Thank you.’ He says sincerely, clutching the pendant tightly and rubbing the casing of the orb with his thumb. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without it.’   
*****************************  
‘I want to talk about it.’ He says suddenly the next day while making breakfast. He’d been allowed home but Chloe had insisted that he stayed over at hers for a while- mainly because she just loved to spend time with him. She’d taken work off for a few days and, of course, Lucifer had insisted on making her meals. 

‘Talk about what?’ she says absently from the sofa. 

‘The pendant... and, why I’ve been acting so strange recently.’  
She turns off the TV and looks over her shoulder to where he’s working with his back to her in the kitchen, shirt rippling as he cracks an egg into a pan. 

‘That’s really good, Lucifer.’

He turns around to face her and smiles genuinely. ‘I think it’s time I was totally honest. I booked a session with the Doctor for later today, and I was wondering if you’d come. You don’t have to, obviously, it’s not a requirement, I just... I think I need you there with me.’

Before she can answer, he turns back around and carries on preparing food, like he’s scared she’s just going to say no. Which of course she isn’t. 

‘I’d love to come with you. Thank you.’

He flips the omelette he’s making over and faces her again with a perplexed expression on his face. ‘For what?’

She half-sighs, half-chuckles. ‘For being open with me. And considering our connection strong enough that you’d let me come along to therapy with you.’

Now he’s the one to chuckle. ‘Of course our connection is that strong, Detective. I would trust you with my deepest, darkest secrets.’

She can feel her cheeks warming. He’s never usually so open about his affections for her. 

‘And, obviously, if you have any naughty secrets you want to share with me, I’m all ears.’

Lucifer again. But his jokes are more reassuring than anything now, since it means he’s finally getting back to himself again. 

When they get into Linda’s office later, though, the jokey demeanour is gone. Chloe’s never seen him so tense and anxious. He fiddles with the pendant in his hands almost obsessively while he waits for the Doctor to finish up a phone call with another client, and his knee is bouncing up and down. Chloe puts a reassuring hand on his and he gives her a weak smile in response, but she can tell his heart’s not in it. 

‘Alright, then.’ Linda says, after she’s ended the call. ‘All ready for you, Lucifer.’

This is a sign for him to begin, however he instead glances down at the floor and stays silent. Linda, noticing this, tries a different tactic.

‘Do you want me to start?’

He nods slightly, so she clears her throat. ‘So, the pendant. I can see it’s very important to you.’

He nods again. 

‘So, why is that?’

Instead of answering the question, Lucifer seems to shrink in on himself even more, still gazing downwards. Everything about this is wrong, Chloe thinks. She hadn’t realised how honest he had been when he’d said that he would need her. 

‘It’s okay, Lucifer.’ She murmurs to him, rubbing up and down his arm. ‘Take your time, right?’ She glances up at the Doctor to gauge her reaction.

‘Of course.’

Silence ensues for a few more seconds, and Chloe is beginning to wonder the intensity of his secret. Then, a single drop falls from where he’s hanging his head to the fabric of his suit trousers. 

Then another. 

And another. 

He’s crying. 

Chloe instantly takes his hand in hers again and squeezes it- a simple gesture to let him know that she’s there for him. When he squeezes back, some of the anxiety rising in her simmers down. 

‘It’s okay to cry, Lucifer.’ Linda tells him, offering him the box of tissues on her desk gently. 

He tentatively picks a tissue from the box, but his hands are shaking and it’s like he can barely keep them up so Chloe takes it tenderly from him and helps dry his eyes. He mutters his thanks to her and then sits up so they can both see him.   
‘Sorry, I...’ he sniffs, loosing a humourless laugh. ‘I didn’t think that was going to happen.’

‘That’s okay.’ Linda assures. ‘It’s good to let emotions out sometimes.'

He swallows and begins fumbling with his pendant again, except this time his rhythmic action is accompanied by words. 

‘Trixie isn’t the first child I’ve formed a bond with.’ He begins. ‘Once upon a time, many eons ago, I had...’ he exhales a trembling breath. ‘I had a daughter.’

‘had’, Chloe thinks. He ‘had’ a daughter.

She thought she knew everything there was to know about Lucifer, and now...

‘Her name was Oriel.’ He continues. ‘The word ‘Or’ in Hebrew means ‘light’ and ‘el’ means ‘of God’. Light of God.’ 

He huffs out another humourless laugh. ‘This was obviously before I considered my Father the universe’s biggest dickwad.’

Linda smiles. ‘I assumed.’

‘Well, Oriel was... she was everything to me. She looked a little like Trixie, actually, except she had green eyes and, well, she was more ‘me’ I suppose. Right little minx.’ The corners of his mouth curve up fondly. ‘I loved her more than anything in the world, and she always saw me as a good man- a good father- even when I thought I wasn’t. She developed my light-bearing skills as well, managed a good deal more than I did at her age. Her first orb, she gifted to me.’

He lifts the pendant, gazing wistfully at the light inside. ‘Always such a clever darling, was Oriel. It felt so good to be a Dad, as well, to give a child of my own what I suppose I had never had the chance to receive. Love.’

His eyes twinkle with yet more emotion. 

‘But I was a fool, and I questioned Father when I should have kept my mouth shut, and I spoke out when I thought things were unjust. He’d threatened me with grave consequences before but never did I take them too seriously. Then, one day, he had enough.’

His face darkens, anger pooling in the depths of his eyes   
‘My ‘merciful’ Father decided to punish me. By smiting her. A literal snap of his fingers, a wave of his hand, and she was dying. In my arms.’

Chloe sees the tears spring to his eyes, but he carries on, blinking and pushing past them. Probably because it would be too painful to stop when he’s come so far. 

‘I tried to save her, but... I couldn’t.’

Like puzzle pieces, everything comes together in her mind- his distance throughout the case, his extreme anger towards God, and the moment she’d found him on the basement floor, trembling and repeating that same phrase. 

‘I couldn’t save her. She was gone before I even had the chance to properly say goodbye. My own flesh and blood taken from me by my own Father.’ He spits out, practically trembling with the effort to contain his anger. 

‘So I decided that I would rebel even harder. I had nothing left to lose after Oriel was gone, so I pushed and pushed until eventually they threw me out and had the nerve to call me ‘evil’. But it didn’t matter. Because no light of Heaven was enough to replace the light that I’d lost the day my little girl fizzled out.’

Chloe doesn’t realise she’s crying until Lucifer asks her if *she’s* okay. After all he's been through, his thoughts still go to her feelings first. 

‘I’m fine, Lucifer, I just... I’m so sorry. I couldn’t imagine...’

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, darling. The only person to blame is my Father, and Him knows he’s not going to come down and fix things. I just... I think about her constantly and I can’t seen to let go.’

Linda nods, eyes also watery. ‘I think, perhaps... because you never had the chance to properly let go when it happened. You need some closure.’

‘And how do I go about getting that?’

‘Maybe... you need to hold a proper service for her. A funeral. I know how hard it would be for you but... I think it would really help you, Lucifer.’

He looks up at her hopefully. ‘You think so?’

The Doctor nods again. ‘I think it would help start the process of healing. Grief is a terrible thing but you have people around you who can help you through it and there is light at the end of the tunnel.’

Lucifer smiles softly. ‘For once, Doctor, I think I’m going to take your advice.’


	6. Reconstruction and Working Through

Chloe finds herself thinking about Lucifer’s confession often. Every time she hugs Trixie or tucks her into bed or reads her a bedtime story, the image of Lucifer with his little girl shoves to the forefront of her brain. This only makes her hug her daughter tighter, knowing that she is oh so lucky to have her to hold when people like her partner have had to deal with the loss of their own flesh and blood. 

Eventually, Trixie notices that her mother isn’t acting quite right.

‘What’s wrong, Mommy?’ she asks after receiving the third hug of the morning. 

Chloe doesn’t know how to break the news to her that one of her favourite people is hurting, and especially the reasoning, but she takes Trixie’s hands in hers and tries anyway. 

‘Lucifer’s sad at the moment, Monkey.’

‘Why?’

‘Because... because he used to have his own little monkey, but she’s not around anymore.’

The little girl nods, understanding. ‘So he misses her?’

‘Yes, Trix. A lot.’ Chloe says, looking into her daughter’s eyes. ‘We just gotta be a little gentle with him right now, okay?’

‘Okay. I can do that. Do you think he’ll want hugs?’

Chloe sighs. In truth, she doesn’t know what he’ll want- hell, she has no idea how she’d react had Trixie been lost to her.   
‘You’ll have to ask him, Monkey. Now, you got your bag packed for school?’

The bright-eyed child hums the affirmative and skips off to grab it, leaving Chloe yet again to think about Lucifer. 

After therapy, she’d asked him what he needed, how she could help. It had taken him a while to answer, though he’d eventually choked out ‘I think I just need time’ and bade her goodbye. She hadn’t wanted to invade his space, however much she felt it helpful for him to have someone to talk to, so she’d settled on texting him intermittently to check on him. 

She shoots him another quick message now, asking him if he’s okay. 

A reply pings back nearly instantly. 

‘👍'. 

Unconvinced, she can’t stop herself from typing out a response. 

‘You sure? There nothing I can do?’

A few seconds pass, then another reply. 

‘Maybe one thing.’

She unconsciously quirks an eyebrow. 

‘What’s that?’

‘If you can make it, could you come to the beach here later, at 8 maybe?’

Attached to the message is a location link, which redirects her to the Google maps page for a local beach area. She recognises it as the place where they shared their first kiss.  
‘I’ll be there’ she sends back. Because of course she will be.   
********************************  
He scours the shelves of the shop for ages, searching for one that fits his wants. The making up some is too thick, others far too thin, and after coming face to face with many hapless customer assistants shrugging and telling him they don’t know if they have what he’s looking for, he calls it a day and heads home. 

On his way back, he passes a park. It’s a school day, so there’s only one family there- a mother holding her daughter’s hand as she clambers over a climbing set and a father watching on happily from a bench nearby. Lucifer clenches his fists in his pockets, a newfound surge of anger at the Almighty brewing within him. He forces himself to exhale and release the tension, reminding himself of the dangers of jealousy. These people are happy, and it’s no fault of their own that he’s not. 

Clouds shroud the sky above, making it impossible for him to see above to where the stars reside. He curses then for existing, for blocking his view of her. He knows, of course, that she is dead, but he also knows that the stardust she had become is clustered into a nebula that shines at night. If he squints hard enough, some days it feels like he can almost see her face. That makes him smile. 

Once he’s traipsed back into Lux and endured the elevator ride up, he pours himself a glass of whiskey and sets to work on his project. Who cares if the shops can’t provide him with what he thought he needed?

He finds parchment paper rolled up on one of his bookshelves, scissors from his kitchen, glue usually used for sniffing in a drawer, and an ink pot and quill on an unused desk. These supplies should be enough. 

Wiping the layer of dust from the top of the desk, Lucifer places his assortment of items on the surface. He starts tentatively at first. The scissors smoothly cut through the yellowed paper until he has a rectangle and a circle, which he then decorates meticulously with patterns scratched on with the ink. 

He’s seen the urchin partake in arts and crafts before, but he’s never understood the relaxing properties of it until now. All other thoughts drift from his mind with each curved line he draws, his grief and longing spilling out from the quill onto the etchings he creates. 

Then, he uses the glue to join the short edges of the rectangle together into a cylinder, his artwork proudly emblazoned on the outside. He attaches the circle to the bottom of the cylinder like a base, smiling smugly to himself when it fits perfectly. His maths is decidedly not rusty.   
When he tips the paper creation upside down, the gentle light of the penthouse shines through it prettily. His plan is coming together. 

He leaves the craft on the desk for now and glances at his phone to see that the time is already 6pm. Had he been working on this intricate thing for hours? It didn’t feel like it to him. 

The rest of the whiskey is downed to reduce the gnawing pain he feels to a light ache, and he stands at the balcony to observe the sun’s slow course behind the horizon. 

‘Why did you take her from me, Dad?’ he murmurs. ‘There was no need.’  
**************************************   
It’s 7pm, and Chloe doesn’t have much of an idea what she’s prepping for. Whatever it is, though, she’s ready to face it with him.

The stars are just starting to make themselves known in the sky outside as she pulls on her jacket. Her phone reads 7:30, meaning she should arrive in time for 8. 

‘Bye Monkey! Have fun!’ she calls out behind her, to the kitchen where Maze and Trixie are ‘baking’. So far, nothing in there smells remotely like food, but there are more important things to be worried about than that so Chloe leaves them to it. 

She slips into her car and turns on the radio, letting the gentle buzz of antiquated songs act the backdrop for her journey to the beach. LA is lit up, as usual, and it’s hard to see past the neon lights to the sky, yet the closer she gets to the beach, the clearer the speckles of light become.   
Knowing her partner was the one to make them is... awe-inspiring to say the least. 

She’s still unaware of what’s going on when she reaches the car park near the sands. Her feet carry her to the shore, where Lucifer is standing. He’s holding something that she can’t yet see because of the darkness, but it resembles a paper cylinder of sorts, covered in ornamental patterns on every inch of the surface. His eyes are skyward bound, gazing wistfully up at his creations as he fumbles with the object in his hands. 

‘Hey’ she says as she approaches him.

He turns around and smiles gently. ‘Hello, Detective. Thank you for coming.’

There’s a brief moment of silence, punctuated only by the whoosh of a passing breeze and their breathing. 

‘What are we doing here?’ she asks. 

‘I’m taking Dr Linda’s advice, I suppose. Getting closure. I... It’s nice to not have to do it alone.’

Oh. Wow. He'd... asked her there for a funeral... for his daughter. She can't help but feel honoured. 

She puts her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. ‘There’s nowhere I’d rather be, Lucifer. I’m so proud of you.’

He turns away slightly, looking down as if embarrassed, and clears his throat. When he faces her again, ghosts of tears sparkle in his eyes. 

‘I have to let go.’ He croaks. ‘I don’t want to, but I have to, Chloe.’

She nods. ‘You do. You can do it. I’m here.’ 

He takes a steadying breath and then lifts the hand not holding the paper structure so that his palm faces the night sky. Suddenly, an orb of light gathers within it, starting off as only a tiny pinprick and growing until it’s as large as a baseball. It hovers, casting a warm glow across both the skin of his hand and the sand beneath the two of them. 

‘It’s beautiful.’ She says with an unbidden gasp. 

He chuckles. ‘It’s what she deserves.’

With a small flick of his fingers, the orb floats down towards the paper, and another swish upwards sends it to hover obediently within the thing. 

Once she sees it lit, it makes sense.

‘A lantern.’ She says under her breath. 

‘Mhm’ he says, holding it with a hand on either side. ‘So I can let her go. Physically.’

He brings the lantern to his mouth and kisses a section of the paper. When Chloe leans in just a bit to see, she can make out the face of a little girl, carefully etched with ink. Oriel, she thinks. He drew her from memory. 

‘Goodbye, darling.’ He murmurs, and lifts the lantern. A light touch combined with the soft breeze sends it floating upwards slowly. She can see it in his eyes then- acceptance. His daughter is rejoining the other stars he so lovingly crafted. 

Chloe takes his hand as they watch the glowing light drift higher and higher, squeezing it gently. 

‘You did good, Lucifer. She’s free.’

He nods, jaw clenched in a manner that suggests if he wasn’t trying his utmost, he’d be a puddle of tears on the ground. But she knows the facade will only make things worse, so she brings him gently into a hug and encourages him to let the emotion free too. After all, it’s just them on the beach- he has no dignity to uphold here, no person he has to be except Lucifer, real and raw and wonderful. 

A choked sob escapes on her shoulder, and she rubs his back, tears wetting her cheeks too. He releases himself for her, lets her see the deepest darkest depths of him and doesn’t try to hide it anymore. He’s well and truly vulnerable, trembling and weeping like the anguished father he is, and he’s allowing her to witness it. To hold him together, if only for a fleeting moment. 

That’s when she knows for sure that she loves him. There on the beach, where they shared their first kiss, and where he lets his daughter, his grief, and his walls, go.


End file.
